


Association Game

by climaxitis (orphan_account)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/climaxitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tried to handle the thorny stem gingerly, but she was careless, and blood spilled from the cuts blossoming on her fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Association Game

Roses grew in the backyard. Elfriede didn’t notice their presence until weeks after, when the buds had started to bloom, those dainty petals opening like a cluster of yellow umbrellas. They added a much-needed splash of color to his otherwise sparse excuse for a garden – which was simple and neat and pathetically barren – but she hadn’t expected anything else from someone whose profession was war. She grew so fond of the little patch of flowers that by the time the spiteful idea had gotten into her head to uproot and shred to pieces every single one of them, thorns and all, she couldn’t go through with it.

She liked to believe it was because they were pretty, and at the end of the day beauty was still something she had it in her to appreciate. And – a more private admission – being above destruction would make her better than him, in a way, wouldn’t it? It should, anyway. Thinking this, she added it to the ever-growing mental list. Not that she needed further convincing of her superiority.

* * *

She was still crouching low on the ground, behind the bushes. As long as it wasn’t raining, a garden made the ideal hiding spot. This was something she’d learned as a child. It was always so peaceful and secluded. She liked feeling alone, and pretending she was invisible. Somehow, it was comforting to know that flowers couldn’t tell that she was sobbing over something silly.

Now the memory only stung like a wound, still fresh and dripping red. It made her think of overgrowth, and the burnt-down skeleton of a childhood house rotting somewhere in hell, where he’d ensured it would stay.

Now she realized what had made her so uneasy. Her mother planted roses, too. Maybe that was the real reason why she couldn’t ruin them. Something girly and sentimental she couldn’t accept without wanting to laugh.

Remaining impassive, she got up to her feet and walked back inside.

* * *

She tried to handle the thorny stem gingerly, but she was careless, and blood spilled from the cuts blossoming on her fingers. It dug into her like needles, at least at first; soon, it faded, as she learned pain often did, and left only residual shock trembling underneath her numbed skin.

The dress was surely ruined now.

* * *

The sunset stretched in through the open window and casted a light onto the water she kept the rose in. From the edge of the bed, Elfriede watched the dull orange illuminate the room before darkening into black. Tonight’s sky was cold; too cloudy for the stars to come out. She reached her hand for the nightgown on the floor and kept her face turned away.

She’d noticed him move from the corner of her eye, but her reaction was too slow and Reuenthal was simply too fast. A split second opening was all he needed. He caught her pale chin in his hand, as if he’d anticipated she’d try to pull away (she did), and when he let go she felt that same coldness and revulsion, spreading down like poison to the tips of her toes in that familiar way she ought to be used to by now. She wasn’t; but the only giveaway was the way her white knuckles clenched and gripped the silk, and that should at least count for effort in his book.

Then he was pulling her by the wrist, tugging her towards him again, and she was too preoccupied with trying to reciprocate that nasty look to make any meaningful effort to protest. Not as if it would’ve worked. Holding her ground would’ve been to her advantage in this situation, anyway. She kept her mouth taut and tried not to quiver.

Reuenthal traced the bandages wrapped around her fingers with uncalled gentleness, touching her like he was handling a fragile object for the first time instead of something he’s had the pleasure of breaking over and over again until he’s had his fill of whatever it was he couldn’t find in anything else but her grief. Elfriede’s face flushed with offense at the thought of this, but she didn’t try to pull away. Doing that would help quicken the process; but it would also mean conceding defeat, and she knew accepting his mercy would’ve stung her pride far worse in the long term than letting him try and injure her again in whatever way he saw fit.

He was still holding her hand.

“I pricked myself on a rosebush,” she tried to make it sound nonchalant. “It’ll heal.”

“What were you trying to do.” His voice was less flat than usual. If Elfriede cared enough to pay attention, she would’ve said he sounded fairly upset. “If you wanted flowers, you could’ve had someone cut them for you.”

“It was on a whim,” she deflected, and couldn’t spit out anything better than an angry demand for something she already knew: “Why do you care so much?!”

“Don’t do anything stupid like that again,” Reuenthal diverted, and there was a slight pause that she could’ve perceived as a sign of hesitation before he went on. “Your hands are the only thing about you worth mentioning. So take good care of them.”

“Gladly, if it’s for you,” Elfriede managed, but her voice lacked the edge it should’ve had.  _Should I throw in her dress too, for good measure,_  she’d wanted to add. The words burned like acid in her throat, unsaid.  _How’d you like that?_

But she guessed it must’ve showed on her face anyway, because then he let go of her, looking at her like he did the first time she figured out she’d hit a nerve (or perhaps it was the opposite way around). Not exactly hurt, or angry, or anything at all she can hope or be concerned enough to try and read. It was probably a worrying sign that she could tell the difference at all.

She expected him to have more to say, but he didn’t. The air felt much colder in the ensuing silence, but there was no way to alleviate that without making a show of her vulnerability with him as the audience. So she turned away, teeth grit, and tried not to shiver too much.

The door to the guest room shut behind her back and Elfriede pretended she’d fallen asleep.


End file.
